Nuances of a Living Faith 86: Dualism
Way back in 1986, when I was in the sixth grade, a classmate of mine embraced the Born Again faith. He was stirred, deeply and sincerely, by what he experienced in the quiet chambers of his soul. Out of concern, knowing that his parents were Catholic, I spoke to his mother. I was twelve years old then, carrying a sense of responsibility far beyond my understanding. My words, though gentle, arose from a fear that he might drift from the faith that had shaped him, and that had shaped me as well. Looking back, I see that the memory carries its own quiet grace, reminding me how easily care, fear, and love become intertwined when we seek the good of another.
He eventually learned of my conversation with her, and one weekday morning at recess he told me, with calm resolve, that his experience had drawn him closer to God. He asked that I respect his decision and refrain from intervening. I felt a weight of shame, not merely embarrassment but the recognition that another’s interior conviction, however sincere, is not automatically subject to my correction. From that day forward, I resolved to be more cautious in imposing my concern upon another’s spiritual journey. That encounter has continued to shape my understanding of faith, freedom, and the delicate boundaries that surround the human conscience.
Years later, by the turn of the new millennium, I was in my third year of teaching at the university. During that time, the high school department of Saint Louis University experienced a period of unrest. Certain teachers introduced practices associated with an Eastern contemplative movement, including the use of incense, the temporary removal of crucifixes in particular contexts, and forms of meditation that differed from customary Catholic prayer. Some members of the school community viewed these developments as enriching; others regarded them as inconsistent with the institution’s Catholic identity.
These differing perspectives generated tension among parents, students, faculty, and administrators. Some parents worried about the direction of their children’s formation. Some students felt divided between affection for particular teachers and fidelity to the religious framework they had received at home. The administration, responsible for maintaining the school’s stated mission, issued policies intended to clarify its Catholic character. Personnel changes followed, and disputes eventually extended into legal proceedings. Whatever conclusions one might draw about the merits of the case, the experience left many members of the community unsettled.
In that atmosphere, I and other college instructors were asked to assume high school classes later in the academic year. I recall the first day clearly. Many students expressed sorrow over the departure of teachers they valued. Others remained quiet, processing the changes in their own way. Trust, once disrupted, required patience to restore. Over time, through steady work and attentiveness, the classroom regained a sense of stability.
These two experiences, though distinct, converged in my reflections on faith and interior conviction. Many who leave the Church do not do so out of hostility. Some depart quietly, carrying disappointment, confusion, or a sense that their religious formation did not fully address their questions. Others encounter spiritual experiences elsewhere that feel immediate and transformative. Such experiences can be meaningful and, at times, genuinely life-giving.
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Yet it does not follow that the intensity of a personal experience establishes its objective truth. Human beings are capable of profound conviction across a wide range of beliefs, some of which contradict one another. For this reason, sincerity alone cannot serve as the sole criterion of truth. Experience deserves respect, but it also invites discernment.
One form of confusion that can arise in spiritual reflection is a dualistic tendency to separate the inner self sharply from the embodied person. Classical dualism regards the material dimension of the human being as secondary or even opposed to the spiritual. Christian anthropology, by contrast, has historically affirmed the unity of body and soul. The human person is not a spirit temporarily housed in matter, nor a body devoid of interior life, but a composite unity in which both dimensions are essential.
Within this framework, the Christian tradition understands sexual differentiation as part of the created order described in Scripture. The affirmation that humanity is created male and female is interpreted not as an incidental biological note but as a meaningful aspect of embodied existence. This claim does not deny that some individuals experience significant distress in relation to their bodies. Such suffering is real and calls for compassion. At the same time, acknowledging anguish does not in itself determine metaphysical or theological conclusions about human nature.
In reflections on the resurrection, Fr. Mike Schmitz has emphasized that Christian hope includes the restoration and glorification of the body. The resurrection of Christ is presented in the New Testament as bodily, not merely symbolic. From this perspective, embodiment is not an obstacle to salvation but integral to it. The reunion of body and soul affirms that matter is not dispensable in God’s design.
Christian faith therefore values interior experience while also situating it within Scripture, Tradition, and reason. Throughout history, individuals who reported mystical experiences were encouraged to submit them to discernment within the community of faith. This practice reflects the recognition that personal insight, however powerful, benefits from examination and guidance.
To those who have left the Church because of disappointment, confusion, or unmet expectations, I do not speak in judgment. Their experiences and questions deserve serious consideration. The Church proposes, rather than compels, that Christ continues to be encountered within her sacramental life and communal worship. She invites reflection on whether personal experience and received revelation might be brought into dialogue rather than set in opposition.
Not every powerful experience is necessarily divine, and not every sense of certainty corresponds to objective reality. Human beings can be both sincere and mistaken. Yet Christianity professes that in the Incarnation, God entered fully into embodied human life. In Christ’s life, death, and resurrection, matter and spirit are not divided but reconciled. The hope held out by the faith is not the abandonment of the body, nor the supremacy of interior feeling, but the redemption of the whole person in communion with God.
In that hope, body and soul together participate in the destiny for which they were created. The Christian claim is that truth is received as gift rather than constructed by desire, and that the fullness of human flourishing lies not in separating what God has joined, but in allowing grace to heal and perfect our unity.
